


phantom

by ieatgrassalot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieatgrassalot/pseuds/ieatgrassalot
Summary: McCree has a PTSD dream about almost dying.This is a vent fic. I wrote this at 12:30 AM.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Kudos: 53





	phantom

Waking up is agony.

A breath shudders from hi lips, a wet slip of blood down the side of his face, and Mccree realizes something -

He’s dying.

He doesn’t remember what happened. His survival instincts insist he focuses on breathing - in, out, in, out, - and the pain that shoots along his ribs with the rhythm is enough to make him want to pass out again. His body keeps him awake, in a horrible consciousness that whittles down his resolve with every passing moment. He can't move. He wouldn't even if he could - he can't feel anything past the splitting ache in his skull and the way his heart pounds weakly inside his chest. 

He feels like past the haze of red in his vision, and the black spots threatening to remove his vision completely, there’s light coming from somewhere. It feels warm on the side of his face that’s not drenched in blood, and part of him is glad that if he dies, he’s at least going to do it in in the sun. He wishes adrenaline could make him go numb, but every shaky breath he manages to draw in washes over him like flame.

He blinks hard, glancing to his right. He was correct - he is bleeding out under the sun. He glances left, and a swath of crimson greets him. His hair is matted to the ground, blood slowly pooling beneath his head and lower, but when he tries to trace his eyes down his side, something stops him. So instead of looking all the way down, he turns his eyes back to the sky. Clouds drift past, slow and soft, oblivious to McCree’s contemplations and observations of the pain washing over him, completely unknowing of the fact that McCree knows he may die here.

He might die here. There’s a thought.

It fails to stop looping.

Everyone is gone. Everyone is either dead or has fled the scene. McCree thinks, normally, that he’d chuckle to himself - they’re not going to get away, not in a situation like this. Deadlock had run its course, and McCree - young and overconfident - hadn’t thought that maybe, just maybe, his shit would catch up to him. But here he is, bleeding out in some dingy alleyway, looking at the sky like it’s going to apologize for what the world is doing.

The sun is peeking in at him, too. Lucky,

The sun blots out as he thinks this, suddenly haloing a figure leaning over him, and for a moment, McCree thought he saw god.

His eyes shoot open in the dark of his room, but he doesn't make a sound. Phantom pains shoot through his missing forearm, but his breathing is easy - in, out, in, out - and the sudden switch from agony to waking up sends his mind reeling, and he stares at his bedroom ceiling, lying as still as he had back then. He looks to his side, his right, and the inky black strands of Hanzo’s hair across the pillow gives him something to focus on.

He turns onto his right side, wiggling his hair under Hanzo’s waist and he wraps it around his lover's torso. His other arm makes an attempt at the same, and McCree feels like it’s mocking him. Hanzo stirs slightly, and his hand draws up to hold McCrees, dragging it up to Hanzo’s chest as he breathes in deep and slow. McCree copies him, pressing his brow into the back of Hanzo’s neck, and McCree squeezes his eyes shut and shudders a sigh.

Sleep doesn’t come quickly, but it does come easier. Luckily, his mind simply goes blank.


End file.
